Friday, July 25, 2008

So I'm sitting outside in the lovely (read: STIFLING) 90 degree-at-10pm-heat, drinking a large cosmopolitan (note: ice melted almost immediately) watching my dogs eat bugs attracted to the outside light (annoyance: small insects buzzing around my face) while waiting for them to barf all the creepy-crawlies back up before I let them inside again. WHY AM I DOING THIS, you ask?

Answer: the back yard is clean. Obviously this is where I need to be to preserve my sanity.

My house is a disaster. As in, Call FEMA and For The Love Of All That Is Holy Don't Let My Mother Come Over, disaster.

We are moving into a new, slightly larger house in 10 days. For two people and a small menagerie of animals, we have stuffed this house FAR beyond it's max capacity. Where did we get all this SHIT? What's with all the knick-knacks and hand-me-down furniture and odd collections of mismatched pillowcases and towels? I have serving dishes that I don't even recognize hanging out and smoking dope in my cabinets and putrid-smelling hand lotions from 1998 in my bathroom. There are clothes hanging up in my closet mocking me with their size-six-smugness while the clothes I ACTUALLY wear lie in heaps because there is no room to put them away properly. Shoes from my sophomore year are lurking morosely in corners waiting for the grunge movement to come back in style. The dust bunnies are forming malicious gangs and tagging my walls with spray paint I didn't know I owned.

My theories? Goodwill has been dumping their leftover items at my house. Or grumpy neighbors are getting revenge for our yard that isn't watered enough by sneaking their junk in while I sleep. Or! There is a black-hole-time-warp-thingy in my hall closet that keeps regurgitating crap I SWEAR I got rid of years ago back into my house.

Maybe zombies? Ninja zombies?

One thing I know FOR CERTAIN: It cannot POSSIBLY be my husband's theory that I am a pack rat that attaches sentimental value to anything ever given to me by a loved one/ bought for a rilly rilly good deal/ could maybe kinda be used again in the future. I don't know where he comes up with these wild and crazy ideas.

Poor delusional man. Maybe I should get him some counseling.

But only after he helps me shut down that black hole thingy. The man does have a physics degree, after all. Time to put that fancy college edumacation to use.

In the meantime, I am busy hiding outside in the heat with my laptop. It's just too scary to go inside. Crafting has taken a backseat to waiting for the house to pack itself in preparation for our move. There's a LOT of work to do in there, and if it doesn't have a few boxes packed up by the time I finish my watery drink, I am totally gonna cut it's allowance.